Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Cloudless but gloomy

I miscarried you. I brought you along until I could do so no longer. Despite all my good intentions I lost you by the wayside and it tore me up. It broke me down. I felt the pieces tear away from me.

And last night I had a dream that the rain poured down so fast the ground disappeared beneath my feet and suddenly I had to swim everywhere because I just couldn't get there any other way. And while the sun shone hard on my back as I made my way through the water, I knew everything covered by this new sea. I knew what streets lay hidden beneath me and I made my way through them just the same; turning right and left and stopping as I would now for a cup of coffee at Modelo.

But then the sun evaporated the sea and everything went back to normal. I was standing outside my house, returned from a crazy ride and dropped again. Left alone. Because in leaving you you left me, too.

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Friday, November 12, 2004

Some call it evolution

We go from friends to lovers and hate each other in between. And now I can't stand the sound of your voice, or the echo of your laugh. I hate your bright teeth shining through a fake smile you carelessly throw people's way. You don't understand what you do, and as such no one can ever understand you either.

There's enough rain outside to make a new lake. And there are enough lakes out there that we're running out of names. But that doesn't matter because the point is that all the water comes from somewhere. There has to be a source, maybe more than one. And the weatherman says it'll turn to snow by nightfall. And you know how I love fresh white snow under the shadow of the moon. I get lost in it like a child. It never took much anyway.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we never really outgrow the people we once were. And so when you look at me I might grow weak for half a breath, because I can't really forget who I was. And as such, I can never truly forget who you were. No matter who you've become. Regardless of anything that's happened since. All those negative thoughts last but half a breath.

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Thursday, November 04, 2004

Just like every (and any) other morning

Just like the previous day, just like every (and any) other morning, the sun rises at dawn following the evening of complete darkness. And some wonder where the street lights have gone, and some know but won't divulge, and others are content to go along following from the ground as the lights fly like birds in search of warmer air. But the night is brutal. The chill unforgiving. The darkness a cold sheet. There is no light on my street. Not once the sun goes down.

One dark-colored afternoon I met a man who carried a bag of verse. There were loose sheets, leafs of notebook paper bound together, and even the occasional napkin, scribbled upon, whose once discarded existence was now reborn, reformed, unburied and unmarried to form. And I think of him now because he was something of a seer and in his prophet ways he told me that it'd come to this. His sentences bled into each other and his eyes had the very tint of the night before last; the final seconds of light at night when, like perched birds, the lights hung seemingly in the air. And I saw this in his eyes. I saw it before he uttered a word. He foretold it with his eyes. You just had to know where to look.

The obvious isn't always in what's said. You can know the universe without understanding how you know it.

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